Several weeks ago, I was speaking with a friend who asked me to define organized philately. Given my service on the Collectors Club Board and, more recently, my role as a Board member and treasurer of the APS, I was a reasonable person to ask. I paused for a moment—it’s a deceptively difficult question—and finally offered that organized philately is the structured way in which stamp collecting and postal history are advanced through clubs, societies, and other formal institutions.

It’s the ecosystem that supports the hobby: bringing collectors together, sharing knowledge, setting standards, preserving history, and promoting the study and enjoyment of stamps. This aligns quite neatly with the purpose laid out in the opening paragraphs of our bylaws. The first paragraph gives our name; the next tells you why we exist. You can look it up. It’s on our website.

Perhaps you have a better definition, and that’s perfectly fine. But that’s not really the point.

The real question is why? Why do we need “organized philately” at all? Couldn’t we get by without it? A generation or two ago, no one would have even thought to ask this. So let me try to answer the underlying question: why do we need organized philately?

Implicit in the question is a belief that an individual collector can get along perfectly well without the larger structure. That we don’t need groups that take up time, space, and money—groups with cliques, self-congratulation, and all the rest. That I can do just fine in my stamp room with my catalogs and my albums. I can check what’s available on eBay or at the big auction houses. I can buy what I need, fill the gaps, and enjoy the satisfaction of doing it on my own. I don’t need the journals or the societies or the meetings.

And in the short term, that’s probably true. Our non-organized friend can do just fine—for now. But long-term, it’s a dead end.

We are not numismatists; there is no bullion value propping up the little pieces of paper we cherish. Stamps and postal history derive their value from knowledge—knowledge of usage, production, scarcity, context, and story. Without the backstory, these are simply bits of paper, intrinsically worthless. We all understand why the Inverted Jenny has its aura: the story of its printing, the chain of ownership, the lore surrounding that original sheet.

But the same principle applies to far more “ordinary” stamps: the distinction between dry and wet printings, the shift from flat plate to rotary press to offset, the subtle color variations born of wartime ink shortages, the way a cover posted in London in 1845 made its way to New York—on which ship, with which markings.

All of this—all of it—comes from organized philately. It was built, documented, debated, and preserved by those who came before us.

But why is the question even arising now? Because we are living through a generational shift. As the baby boomers age out, they are succeeded by people who want more of a quid pro quo. “What do I get for my support?” replaces the older model of membership for membership’s sake—where you supported an institution because the institution was worth supporting, even if the journal went straight into the recycling bin. Attitudes are changing. People want direct, tangible benefits. We may find the question uncomfortable, but it is being asked. And we shouldn’t be afraid to answer it.

So why should someone join—and remain a member of—the Collectors Club? Yes, we have a library you can borrow from by mail. Yes, we publish a fine journal. And yes, we host events throughout the year, in New York and at major shows. (We’ll be at Westpex in April—hint.) The Zoom programming is great, and I know you don’t come to New York all that often. Neither do 87% of the members of the Collectors Club.

But more importantly, by being part of the Club and its sister organizations, you help sustain the very value inherent in those little pieces of paper. You support the knowledge, the research, the community, and the continuity that keep philately alive.

And as for the direct, personal benefit? You gain a network. You join a group of people who share the same odd, wonderful language of philately. You become part of something that makes the hobby richer, deeper, and far more enjoyable.

Frankly, it’s a damn sight better than sitting alone in your stamp room. 

–Lawrence Haber

 

 

I’d like to talk about economics – specifically, the economics of philately.

Before I begin, let me emphasize that what follows reflects my own impressions, drawn from informal observation, rather than data or formal study.

But first, a story.

The first stamp show I ever attended was with my grandfather, somewhere in a Manhattan armory. I don’t remember the date or much about what I saw, though it must have been in the early 1960s. I also recall hearing older philatelic friends reminisce about those grand Armory shows.

Of course, times have changed. We no longer see stamp shows in the heart of major cities – or even minor ones – let alone in major venues. Today, they’re usually held in modest, three-star hotels on the outskirts of town. And, while these locations serve their purpose, they’re not exactly inspiring. (If I’ve inadvertently offended anyone involved with such venues, please accept my preemptive apology – my experiences are limited and I am a foolish old man.)

For clarity, I’m not including the major international exhibitions, such as New York 2016 or the upcoming Boston 2026. Those belong to a different category entirely – and, in a way, their scale and expense underscore my point.

Now, let’s step away from philately for a moment and visit the Park Avenue Armory, at 643 Park Avenue between 66th and 67th Streets. From April 30 to May 3, that’s where you’ll find the New York International Antiquarian Book Fair.

It’s a magnificent event – the venue grand, the booths beautifully designed, the presentation impeccable. The crowd is diverse: men and women, young and old, all engaged and curious. In other words, exactly what we’d love to see at a stamp show. Admission is $30 a day, or $65 for a multi-day pass.

Now, imagine trying that with a stamp show. We hesitate to charge even $3 or $5 at the door – and when we do, there’s often pushback.

Over time, we’ve seen the slow but steady erosion of the traditional economics that once sustained our shows. Dealers, the backbone of funding, have aged out, and few new ones have taken their place. As a result, the pool of support has shrunk, forcing shows into smaller, less central venues and creating anxiety about how to replace that lost revenue.

Raising prices – whether for admission or exhibit frames – feels risky. Even organizers question whether the current model offers enough value. Many shows have declined in quality, making the value proposition even harder to justify.

Meanwhile, at that book fair, dealers are selling – and selling high. I once watched my wife admire an old volume; the dealer, noticing her interest, began describing its history. I glanced at the tag: $900,000. Elsewhere, tables overflowed with vintage pulp novels and detective stories, rarely priced below $100.

A $30 admission fee filters the audience – only those genuinely interested attend. I didn’t buy the million-dollar book, but I left inspired and began collecting books written in New York between the 1920s and 1940s.

The book world, of course, has its own challenges. The internet has revolutionized used book sales – perhaps even more profoundly than it has altered stamp collecting – through sites like eBay, Alibris and AbeBooks. Yet somehow, the top-tier book fairs continue to thrive.

There’s a lesson here for philately. The New York Antiquarian Book Fair is the major event of its kind in the United States. There are smaller ones in Boston and Los Angeles, but none dilute the prestige of the main fair. Compare that with our world: how many WSP shows do we have? Have we spread our efforts too thin?

I’m not suggesting we simply copy the model used by the book trade. But I do believe we need to look beyond the familiar – to question assumptions, experiment with structure and explore new models. Because, as things stand, our current approach isn’t working – and it’s unlikely to sustain us in the long term.

Wade Saadi, 1949-2025

As this issue was nearing press-ready status, we learned of the passing of Wade Saadi on Wednesday Oct. 9. An email containing a portion of the following poem by Maya Angelou, which we felt was fitting, was sent out, along with the notice of Wade’s death.

When Great Trees Fall

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,
dependent upon their nurture,
now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance, fall away.

We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold
caves.

….

Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

— Maya Angelou

Our thoughts are with Gail and their family as they face this difficult time. A full obituary for Wade will appear in the January-February, 2026 issue.

 

 

–Lawrence Haber

 

 

Over the past six years, I’ve attended more shows and meetings than I can count. As I wander through an event, chatting with friends and acquaintances, one topic almost always comes up: the state of philately – more specifically, organized philately. I don’t claim to have special expertise, nor am I aware of any rigorous, long-term studies that shed light on the issue. Still, like many others, I form opinions based on anecdotal observation. My thoughts are no more inherently valid than yours.

Before discussing why organized philately matters and why it needs to be preserved and strengthened, we should ask: why does it seem that our numbers shrink year after year?

Our hobby isn’t immune to broader cultural and societal trends. If you’ve spoken with me recently, you’ve probably heard me mention Bowling Alone by Robert Putnam, first published in 2000. In his book, Putnam documents the decline in membership across many types of volunteer organizations in the United States – from religious congregations and fraternal orders to PTAs, veterans’ groups, bridge clubs and, yes, stamp clubs. His title refers to the sharp drop in bowling league participation, which has led to more people bowling alone – or not at all.

Putnam attributes this decline to a loss of social cohesion – what he calls social capital. The causes include:

• Generational change. The older, civically engaged “long civic generation” has been replaced by younger, less-involved cohorts, accounting for roughly half of the decline.
• Technological change in leisure. The rise of television and, later, the internet and screens has shifted time toward solitary entertainment and away from face-to-face interaction.
• Suburbanization and commuting. Urban sprawl and car dependence mean longer commutes and less neighborhood contact, weakening local networks.
• Work and family changes. More two-income households, greater time pressure and unstable employment leave less time for clubs and volunteering.
• Political and cultural shifts. Increased polarization and declining trust in institutions has eroded civic engagement and voter participation.

We’ve experienced some of this within our own club and with virtually every other philatelic organization. Moving programs online via Zoom has expanded our reach dramatically – an undeniable success. But there’s a trade-off : real-time, in-person contact is irreplaceable. What’s lost? Serendipitous discovery – the chance encounters, unexpected finds and unscripted conversations that enrich our experience.

If we accept that much of the hobby’s current state reflects larger social and cultural forces, then solutions may lie outside philately. Other fi elds facing similar challenges have found creative ways to adapt, and we can learn from them.

Once upon a time, a Wall Street philatelist might finish work at 4 p.m., stop by the club, sink into a chair with a cigar and a whiskey and chat about new issues or discoveries. That world is gone. Today, work ends later, commutes are longer, family responsibilities take precedence and leisure time is scarce. We can’t simply bring back the past.

What we can do is find new ways to foster interaction, through events, yes, but also by looking well beyond the boundaries of our hobby for ideas worth borrowing. The path forward may be one others have already walked; we should not be afraid to follow it.

Now, usually these dialogues in the CCP are really not dialogues: given the limitation of print, they are essentially one-way communiques. But we have new tools, and I encourage you to try them out. Over at our Substack, https://collectorsclub.substack.com/, we’ve opened up the chat feature. Go over there and have a look and have a say. We’ve opened a thread on this topic with this piece as the first post. What do you say?

 

 

–Lawrence Haber